


Mirror

by Piccolo_is_green



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 15:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_is_green/pseuds/Piccolo_is_green
Summary: Prince Vegeta's six-month interstellar voyage is interrupted by two women: the Mirror hologram, and the mysterious woman who created it. As time passes, truths are revealed that will have far-reaching consequences for the universe. Space AU, B/V. One shot drabble fic written for the December 2017 BVDN run by The Prince and the Heiress community. Rated M for language.





	Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragonball Z.
> 
> A/N: This was written today during The Prince and the Heiress’ BVDN (Bulma Vegeta Drabble Night). I was given 10 prompts and half an hour to write a prompt for each. I wasn’t sure what the prompts would be, and for a while the first one had me stumped, until I was suddenly inspired by some of the imagery from Blade Runner 2049. Don’t stress if you haven’t seen that film – there’s no spoilers in this story/the plot is completely different – I just wanted to acknowledge what gave me the initial spark I needed to get going.  
> This is another set-in-space AU. I just love those, as you can probably tell if you’ve read a few of my fics. As always, if you enjoy it, please leave a review. The warm fuzzies fuel my writing.
> 
> \- Pic

****

**Mirror**

**Real? Or Fantasy?**

There’s blood caked under his nails. He can _feel_ it, and he hates it. “Fucking useless piece of shit gloves,” Vegeta grumbles, stepping into the Captain’s quarters. The poor-quality uniform is just one of the many ways Frieza shows his contempt for the Saiyan-Cold alliance. Making him a fucking _Captain_ on a six month interstellar voyage when he’s the Crown Prince is another.

He’s barely two feet into his living space when she starts pestering him. “Hello soldier. How was your day?”

He stares at the woman, and she smiles back, but her blue eyes have no depth.

He ignores the question. “You changed your hair,” he states instead.

“The _Mirror_ system upgraded. I like this colour much better. What do you think?” She twirls for him, blue hair flying about, her skin flickering for a second as a hand passes _through_ one of the walls.

“I think you’re a useless piece of shit robot that has no real function,” he tells her. “Now fuck off.”

Her programming doesn’t know how to respond to that one. The pretty face blinks, confused.

“Why don’t I help you?” she asks. He stops, mid-way through undressing, to really stare at her this time.

“Help me with what? You’re a fucking hologram!?” he yells. His anger is irrational – he knows – but it’s more because he hasn’t managed to figure out how to turn the damn thing _off_ and after a month it’s driving him insane.

“Help you with _that_.” She points at his dick, the shape of it obvious through his spandex. “The upgrade also included some adult entertainment sessions.”

With that she’s suddenly naked. She’s blue _down there_ , too. He splutters, retreats into the bathroom, and slams the door in her face.

 

* * *

 

**Masquerade**

Despite the black mask that covers half her face, he recognises the blue eyes and pouty lips. After coming face to face with them every day for two months straight, he’d recognise them anywhere. It gives him such a shock that he stops and stares like an idiot. She notices, excusing herself from the conversation to weave through the crowd towards him.

“Care for a dance?” she asks, with the same sultry voice that’s been driving him mad for two months. He can’t seem to think straight, but manages a nod as she tugs at his arms and leads him to the dance floor.

With all his royal training, dancing is something he can do automatically, at least.  Her hand is tiny in his gloves palm, and surprisingly solid. She smiles at him, and her blue eyes hold such humour that he begins to think he’s been part of some elaborate sick joke.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks, barely restraining himself from snarling at her. She seems to recognise his anger – the humour dies from her eyes, and is instead replaced by caution.

“My name is Bulma. Bulma Briefs.”

“The scientist.” He’s heard of her name before. Her planet is new to the alliance.

“Yes. And you’re Prince Vegeta.”

He spins her in time with the music, and when she turns back into him he grips her a little more tightly. “I am. Perhaps you can explain to me why you seem so familiar,” he says, and this time he does snarl. “Because I have a fucking annoying hologram on – ”

“ _The Destroyer._ That’s your ship?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a prototype,” she says. “It’ll improve.”

The music stops, and they’re ordered to their seats. She remains on the opposite side of the ballroom for the rest of the evening.

 

 

* * *

 

**Angel**

He returns to his ship in the early hours of the morning, using the same shuttle as the rest of his crew, and has to put up with their drunken singalong for the half hour it takes to get out of the port and into the air. Saiyans are not naturally gifted singers, and it’s a particularly painful form of torture. At least he can finally peel off the fucking masquerade mask Frieza forced them all to wear.

They’re all tired. He trudges into his quarters, and –

“Hello soldier. How was your day?”

He stares at her. It is _her_ , Bulma Briefs, although this hollow version lacks the intelligence that shone so clearly through the woman’s eyes at the ball.

“My day was fucking strange,” he answers. “I met you.”

The hologram follows him as he circles around to his bed and pulls off his shoes. “You met me?” she asks.

“Yes. Bulma Briefs. You.”

He unclips his cape, and pulls the formal armour off over his head. He throws it all on the floor – his father would kill him if he saw that – but he’s too tired to care.

“I’m not Bulma Briefs,” the hologram states as he crawls into bed. He can barely keep his eyes open.

“Then what are you?” He doesn’t know why he’s actually talking to this thing. It must be the drink.

“I am Angel,” she replies.

It’s a strange response. He cracks one eye open. She stands there, the outline of her shimmering slightly, as all holograms do.

“You’re broken,” he tells her. “A fucking prototype.”

“One of me will do,” she says. He’s too tired to respond.

 

* * *

 

**Remember Me**

He steps into his quarters, grinding his teeth in preparation for it. _Hello soldier. How was your day?_

It doesn’t come.

The room remains silent. He steps forward, alert now, and no hologram springs to life, no voice, calling out to him. His tail unfurls behind him, flicking back and forth in agitation.

“Hello?” he says, and then growls and punches a hole in the wall because he feels like a fucking idiot. After three months he finally has blissful silence, and now he’s bothered by that? “Fool,” he mutters under his breath.

He takes a shower. After, he wraps a towel around his waist – a habit he started to stop the hologram from pointing at his dick all the time – and then feels like a fool again and drops it. Let him be naked for once.

He’s halfway through fixing himself some reconstituted protein when he notices a flash of blue behind him. He turns to find the hologram flickering to life, but she’s different again this time. She wears the mask from the ball, and an ill-fitting white coat.

“Hello Vegeta,” she says. “Remember me?”

This time her eyes are not hollow. They seem to shine with that same intelligent humour that he’s seen once before as they examine him from head to toe. “Do you want me to come back when you’re dressed?” she asks, grinning. “It’s fine if you don’t. I don’t mind the view.”

“Bulma,” he realises, too late. “Fuck!”

 

* * *

 

**The Mirror**

When he’s wrapped a towel around himself, he storms out of the bathroom to face her. “Who the hell are you, and why are you contacting me in the privacy of my ship? No one should have communication access to this room!”

She isn’t fazed by his anger. “Technically, this is Frieza’s ship,” she starts, “and clearly, you have no idea who should and shouldn’t have communication access to your room, because here I am,” she gestures, turning around. “I like what you’ve done with the place, though. Very modern.”

“Bulma.” He hopes, for her sake, that she can hear the warning in his voice. “Answer the damn question.”

“Questions. Like I told you when we met, I’m a scientist. I’m _the_ scientist that Frieza forced to put the _Mirror_ hologram system into each Captain’s room. If you didn’t realise already, it’s a two-way communication system that has been collecting data on you. And if you’re pissed off about that, go ahead and be angry, but don’t take it out on me. I’m just the messenger.”

 He’s beyond angry. He feels violated.

Bulma takes advantage of his silence to continue. “I’m contacting you because I need your help. Frieza plans on destroying my home planet once he strips it of its natural resources. He’s enslaved – ”

“You realise you’re committing treason,” he interrupts her. “I’m duty-bound to report you.”

“He plans on destroying Vegetasei too. He wants the Saiyans dead. I heard him say it.”

Part of him is not surprised. He feels numb. “Explain,” he orders.

 

* * *

 

**Inside My Mind**

Bulma peels away the masquerade mask, shoving it into the pocket of her lab coat. She wore it to remind Vegeta of the woman he’d met at the ball, and to appear different to _Angel_. It still disgusts her that Frieza had one of his minions install the pornography extension over the Mirror hologram, more so because she knows every Captain in the fleet has used it, bar the Saiyan. She tells herself she would have never agreed to Frieza using her likeness had she known what his intentions were.

Truthfully, she knows she’s not in a position to say ‘no’ to anything that Frieza requests, and that fact terrifies her.

She wipes her palms against her coat and wonders, once more, if she’s made the right choice by picking Vegeta, a man with almost as much murder under his belt as Frieza. She’s gone completely rogue now, disobeying orders from her government and breaching intergalactic protocols left, right and centre, contacting a Prince and – in his words – committing treason.

They’ll all die if she doesn’t.

She told Vegeta that Angel would be a way for her to communicate with him without anyone noticing. “Access to the inner workings of my mind,” she mutters, as she attaches new code to _The Destroyer’s_ hologram.

 

* * *

 

**Infatuation**

The hologram no longer appears as soon as he enters his room, although, according to Bulma, he has to use it at least once a day to make sure it’s not suspicious. They have an agreed time – 9pm – when he fires it up with voice activation. Some days, the real Bulma appears, rather than Angel.

“Hello Mirror.”

She appears before him in a white dress, an outfit he’s never seen before. “Angel?” he asks, aware that he may well be being recorded.

“Hello soldier. How was your day?”

He lets out a breath that he was holding. “Shit. We ran into Normelian mines. Lost two men clearing a path for the ship.”

“Shall I record that in the ship’s log?”

“Yes.”

He lies back on his bed, one arm draped over his eyes. He has a headache. He still hasn’t decided on what to do with the information Bulma has told him so far regarding Frieza’s plans – how much can he say to his crew?

He wishes she were here rather than this soulless machine. He has come to appreciate her intelligence and quick humour.

“Shall I take care of that?”

“What?”

“ _That._ Your penis is enlarged again.”

“No!” he yells. Angel is naked again, but all he can think of now is Bulma. It’s her pretty face, after all, though the eyes are wrong, and the voice is too robotic.

“Are you sure – ”

“Mirror, OFF!” he screams.

 

* * *

 

**Darkest Desires**

“Hello Mirror.”

“Vegeta, things are moving faster than we anticipated,” Bulma fires as soon as the hologram loads. She’s in her regular lab coat, her blue hair pulled back behind her head. For the first time, she’s sitting down, although the hologram still follows him as he moves through the room, making it appear as if she’s floating in the air, a strange, footless creature.

Her hands twist together. After three months, he knows her well enough to see that she’s agitated.

“Explain.”

“Frieza’s taken _Cold One_ and set a course for Vegetasei. Earth is the destination after that.”

He feels sick. He’s told his Officers on board of Frieza’s intentions, and the plans he has made with Bulma, but no one else. He’ll need the support of as many First-Class soldiers as he can get if he’s to have any chance in convincing the King to mutiny against Frieza.

He feels very trapped. None of the communication lines used by the Saiyans are secure.

“We land on Vegetasei tomorrow. What is Frieza’s ETA?”

“Two weeks.”

“That’s not enough time.” The timeframe he has been working with until this point is a year, at the earliest.

“Enough time for an evacuation.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me. Saiyans, running away? Are you out of your mind?”

“No. You’re out of your mind if you stay. You’ll all die, and so will I. I’ve taken a pod. I land on Vegetasei tomorrow, an hour after you.”

“You idiot.” He shakes his head, glaring up at her. “You fool! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I’m thinking that I want to see you before I die,” she says quietly. “In person. Where I can touch you, maybe kiss you. If you don’t object?”

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I wrong, then?”

“No.” He tells her. “But you’re still insane. And we Saiyans do not do so well with uninvited guests.”

She smiles, blue eyes lighting up. “Don’t I know it,” she laughs.

 

* * *

 

**Point of No Return**

She tightens the straps that hold her in place, and braces herself for impact. The landing is not as bad as she anticipated – the Saiyans still use pod landing pads, and they absorb most of the impact – but her teeth still click together painfully and she feels thoroughly shaken.

When the smoke has cleared, she unstraps herself and attempts to climb out of the pod gracefully. It doesn’t work – her foot slips and she almost falls flat on her ass, save for a strong hand that grips her arm and pulls her upright as if she weighs nothing.

It’s Vegeta, lifting her away from the pod and setting her down on the concrete pavement beside the landing pad. She ignores the glares of the other Saiyans as she places a hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

“Thank you.”

There’s a little colour in his cheeks, and she’s about to tease him when he says, “My father is requesting an audience. Immediately.”

“Sure.” She’s still wearing her lab coat, and feeling groggy as hell from the pod’s stasis-sleep, but there’s no option to turn down the King of Saiyans, and so she follows Vegeta. They enter a small hovercraft, alone.

She blinks, noting the tinted windows on the driverless vehicle. “How long until we reach your father?” she asks.

“The palace is an hour’s drive away.” His voice is strained, and he avoids eye contact. The colour is high in his cheeks again.

“Can anyone see us through this glass?”

“No.”

“Can I help you with that?” she asks, grinning now. He gets her joke immediately and – visibly mortified – meets her gaze.

“Isn’t that what you want?” he hisses, and she wonders how much experience he has with women if he acts like this all the time.

“Yes. You’re what I want,” she laughs, and kisses him. He kisses her back, all traces of hesitation disappearing as his hands skim down her body to grab her ass.

“I have been thinking about this for weeks,” he whispers in her ear, and when he lays her down across the seating, she is pleased to find he’s far more experienced than she initially thought.

 

* * *

 

**Love Never Dies**

He is pure.

Pure fury.

He sinks a glowing fist into Frieza’s side, a knee into the lizard’s groin. He tears the monster limb from limb, but he cannot delight in the screams the way he thought he would. He just needs it to be over.

And then it is. He drops Frieza’s severed head, and climbs out of the crater they made. He walks, past the crying Humans and the Saiyans that kneel and bow their heads reverently. He ignores the whispers, the words _Super Saiyan_ repeated as if on loop. He finds no joy in them.

He stops beside Bulma’s broken body, looks at her glassy, soulless, _dead_ eyes, and thinks that he will never find joy again.

. . .

There is blood beneath his nails. He can smell it. It’s hers, and he doesn’t want to wash it off, because then she’ll be gone forever. He stands in the doorway to their quarters on _The Destroyer_ , too tired, too numb, to move.

He closes his eyes.

“Hello Vegeta.”

His eyes open, and there she is, glowing, the edges of her shimmering. A ball of ki lights in his hand; he’ll destroy it, he cannot bear to see this fake version of her, if he –

“If you’re watching this, then I must be dead. I’ve set this hologram to trigger only on the event of my death; there’s a microchip in my arm that I have monitoring my vital signs.

“Vegeta, if I’m dead, I need you to know two things. One: I love you.” She pauses, smiling at him as if she is right there. “I doubt I said it before I died, so there it is. I love you, you crazy man.

“Two: if I am dead, there might be something you can do about that, or at least about all the other destruction I’m assuming Frieza has caused. Find _Kami_ , the God of Earth. He’s actually a Namekian. Turns out there’s a few different ways to bring people back from the dead. I’ll leave it to him to tell you the rest, but if you act fast enough, I might be able to come back.

“Finally, thank you. Thank you for believing me, for trusting me, for being my equal partner in this war and for helping me to save my people. It was an honour to fight in this rebellion alongside you.

“Until we meet again –” She steps towards him, kisses her hand, and blows him a kiss. "Goodbye." 


End file.
